Change
by pinkginger
Summary: In the aftermath of Ethan discovering her identity as Rage in Resus, Alicia goes to the Hope and Anchor to do some self-reflection where she bumps into Bea Kinsella, who proves to be a surprisingly good listener


notes: Okay I'm aware this is literally the most niche thing I could have possibly written and that nobody cares about it but me but I was inspired so. I just really, really want to see more positive interactions between women in the show, whether romantic or platonic, so I thought I'd write one. Also, this isn't intended to come across as negative towards the Ethan/Alicia relationship? I think they're at an interesting yet difficult point in the show and I wanted this to reflect that. Enjoy!

Ethan Hardy stared at her with accusatory eyes like judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one.

"Did you write the blog?"

Alicia froze.

To be fair, she probably should have expected it. She had noticed Ethan throwing her surreptitious glances on and off all day, and when he had called her into his office at the end of her shift there was a tiny part of her that knew what was coming. Running Rage in Resus had been incredibly risky, but it was a risk she felt was necessary. The things she saw every day tore into her, creating wounds that never quite seemed to go away. Writing the blog had been a strange form of catharsis, like bandaging the wounds for just a moment. She wondered how her colleagues could bury their heads in the sand so effortlessly and go on with their life. Maybe they were just better at ignoring it, numbed by years of medical work.

"Alicia? I'm not joking. Did you write the blog?" The air was warm and heavy, crackling with impatience. Ethan spoke almost like a soldier, voice firm and commanding. His arms were folded across his chest as though to shut her out.

Sweat began to bubble at the edge of her hairline and the truth lodged itself in her throat like a stone, stopping her from choking out any meagre, half-baked excuses.

"Well? Did you?"

She said nothing, too tired of lying to deny it but far too ashamed to tell the truth.

He sighed, leaning forward on his desk in a way that was almost intimidating. Past Alicia would have laughed uproariously at that, the idea that one day she would look at the sweet, innocuous Ethan Hardy and be intimidated. But in that moment, Ethan's steely gaze slicing into her like shrapnel, it seemed far from a laughing matter. "Let me make something very clear, Dr Munroe. Either you tell me the truth _now_ , and this doesn't get out of my office, or I turn this into an official inquiry and take it up with the hospital board." His tone was authoritative and she wondered if on some level he was relishing in the newfound power being Clinical Lead gave him. "I'm sure Jac Naylor would be _thrilled_ to find out who's been slandering her hospital online."

That was it. The end of the road. There would be no more lies, no more kisses tainted by deception. Just the truth, in all its hideous glory.

"Yes. I wrote the blog." She tried to make her voice dispassionate, but failed miserably. Her emotions seemed to reverberate around the tiny room-her shame bouncing off the walls, her heartache spilling onto the floor.

He looked at her like she was little more than dirt on the ground beneath him, face creasing with disgust. In that moment, any good intentions she may have had seemed utterly irrelevant-all that mattered was the hurt she had caused.

" _Why_?"

She didn't think he wanted an answer.

She had thousands but they weren't anything tangible, nothing she could string together in a sentence and say aloud. They were the hope that lingered in the eyes of Cam, the young chef with a head full of outlandish dreams and a soul full of boundless possibilities who had been brought into the ED after an unexpected allergic reaction and forced to stay in the ambulance bay because there were no beds. They were the peace with which Cam's chest rose and fell errantly as he was forced to survive on life support, hooked up to machines which emitted a beeping noise that sounded almost taunting: _good luck chasing your dreams now._ They were the tears that slipped down the sunken cheeks of the elderly woman forced to watch her lifelong partner, her source of happiness who had stuck with her through thick and thin, relegated to dying in a corridor, horribly public and clinically impersonal. They were the way grief contorted the face of a doctor who had just lost a patient, desperately trying to find the right platitude to soothe the ache of the relatives but never quite managing to find the ever-elusive magic combination of words that would fix everything. The universe owed a lot of people, but if she could help pay back that debt, even in the most infinitesimal way, she would.

"I wanted to help people." It sounded weak, pathetic, a child's paltry excuse.

The muscles in Ethan's face tightened and his expression became frighteningly inscrutable, like the calm before the storm that rocked the world on its foundations. "Get out of my office." His voice was hard.

Alicia thought back to way Ethan used to speak, courteously timid with an ever-present undercurrent of kindness.

She suddenly hated the man standing in front of her so much she could barely stand still for the ferocity of it.

" _Happily_ ," she spat vehemently in retaliation, relishing in the way the word fizzed at the tip of her tongue like a bomb. It detonated violently, Ethan's face shifting and contorting as the force of the word hit him head-on. She spun on her heel and slammed the door behind her before Ethan could retort, the loud bang echoing through the crowded hospital corridor and causing several people to throw her disparaging looks.

If her life were a book that would be the end of a chapter-door shut, ties severed.

But it wasn't, so she slumped against the wall outside his office and rubbed her face with her hands as though she had aged ten years in the last five minutes. She had a sudden urge to cry but felt as though she had been drained of everything intangible that held her together, until she was just bones and blood and a hollow ache she couldn't quite put a name to, so she stood in the corridor and allowed the world to pass her by.

After all this time, Ethan Hardy could still bruise her heart as though it was little more than a peach.

Much later, she found herself in the Hope and Anchor, sitting alone in the corner and sipping her drink languidly. She wasn't quite ready to go back to her flat and have only her own hopelessly tangled thoughts for company so she had chosen the closest location that provided the most distractions-the local pub. Her beer scorched her throat, hot, and momentarily exhilarating, but ultimately empty, and she figured that was what reality tasted like now that her futile dream of making a difference had been stripped away. She realised just how much _anger_ there was bubbling under her skin, at the world, and at Ethan, and, most of all, at herself.

It scared her.

She submersed herself in the lives of the people at the pub to stop herself from looking too far into the hole that had just opened up in her own, afraid of what she might find. She watched a young couple up at the bar, swapping laughs and smiles as though they were the most precious gifts of all. The man's warm eyes were fixed on the woman as though she were the sun and he a lowly planet that had been pulled into her orbit, like he wouldn't mind if the building crumbled to dust around them as long as he could continue to sit there and hang reverently on her every word.

It made Alicia want to vomit.

She looked at them a little closer and wondered what secrets lurked on the underside of the woman's curved mouth, woven unseen into the symphony of her voice, because surely nobody could be _that_ perfect.

But then, she reminded herself, not everybody lied to the people they cared about.

Just her.

The bell above the door to the pub had been ringing all evening, a perpetual background noise to the relaxed chatter of the patrons, but this time she found herself paying attention.

A raucous laugh rang out through the building, drawing pointed glances from customers as though it had somehow caused their drinks to become less appetising. It was accompanied by an embarrassed murmur, clearly trying to shush the person making the noise.

She recognised Bea Kinsella and Rash Masum instantly. Rash was dressed in his own clothes and looked like he was trying _achingly_ hard to appear casual but there was something unshakeably polished about his neat polo shirt and freshly-ironed jeans. She liked Rash, but she didn't know if it was because she _liked Rash_ or because he reminded her irrevocably of the old Ethan, slinking around the hospital like a shadow. Ethan Hardy had died the moment he laid eyes on Cal's body, and Rash Masum was a strange reincarnation of sorts-timid, reserved, and endlessly tactful, willing to cut off his own tongue to allow someone to speak over him.

Bea Kinsella, bright hair coiled atop her head to give her the air of a crowned queen, was the antithesis of all the aforementioned qualities. She had only been working at the ED for about a month but she was virtually impossible to miss-even Dylan Keogh, who tended to simply view his colleagues as loud-mouthed, irritating objects whose sole purpose in life was to make his more difficult, had memorised her name within minutes of meeting her. She marched around Resus like she owned it, a flurry of banging doors and hurried instructions, never faltering for so much as a beat. The vivid copper of her hair was dissonant against the dull jade of her scrubs and she stood out like a particularly extravagant peacock in a dull flock of pigeons.

There was something oddly magnetic about her-love her or hate her, you couldn't take your eyes off. She was the celebrity whose lifestyle was so extravagant and controversial they were splashed across the front page of every tabloid imaginable, social media buzzing over their every move. Alicia liked the way she talked-fast, and raw, and certain, playful tongue cutting through the pleasantries that typically came with courteous discussion.

Fragments of their conversation drifted over to her like balloons set free to spiral across the sky as they sat down at a table near her and she couldn't help but listen.

"I don't know, Bea," The words stumbled hesitantly out of Rash's mouth like a young child who had just learnt to walk-halting and jarring and intersecting. It was clear that whatever they were talking about was not his area of expertise. "What if she turns me down?"

Bea gave a long-suffering sigh as she lowered her bag to rest on the floor by her feet. "You have to stop worrying about these things, Rash!" She leaned back in her chair and the corners of her lips curved into something that was more of a challenge than a grin. "If you don't go over there and chat her up, I will."

Alicia traced their gazes to the female bartender, hair dark and curly, fingers errantly tapping along to the music quietly leaking out of the pub's speakers.

Bea's comment elicited a look of amusement from Rash but it disappeared as quickly as it arrived. "I can't just go over to her! What would I say?"

"Hello?" Bea suggested wryly, arching a copper eyebrow with a grin.

Rash rolled his eyes as she laughed but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, faint yet undeniable. "You make it sound as though it's the easiest thing in the world."

"That's because it _is_ ," she declared confidently with the air of somebody who had never been turned down in her life. When Rash clearly remained unconvinced she sighed, leaned across the table and took his hands in hers.

"Rash, you have to stop worrying about the 'what if's! Nothing's ever going to happen if you just sit around moping all the time. Put yourself out there! What's the worst that could happen?"

Rash's eyes ambled back across to the bartender and Alicia knew Bea had won. She clearly did too, because she leaned back in her chair and grinned victoriously. "Off you go, then."

Rash clambered to his feet nervously, a rueful smile playing on his lips. "I hate you," he declared, but his eyes, bright with love, said otherwise.

"Love you too!" she replied cheekily, blowing him a taunting kiss.

He rolled his eyes at her, but shuffled up to the bartender nonetheless while she watched with a beam that reminded Alicia of a proud parent.

The bartender smiled and leaned forward a little as she spotted him coming towards her, sizing him up with warm eyes. "What can I get you?"

"Could I have a Guinness?" he asked somewhat timidly, looking for all the world like a teenage boy who had snuck away from his parents to order his first pint. Alicia half-expected her to roll her eyes and ask for ID.

She just grinned at him, mainly courteous but with a undercurrent of something that couldn't quite be put into words-the indecipherable _pull_ you felt around certain people, lust, or attraction, or whatever obligatory title you wanted to assign to it. Sometimes, Alicia thought, it was best not to try and decipher things that felt so utterly innate. You should just let them _be_ , allow notions to possess you and dreams to entice you as they pleased. She quickly scolded herself-that was her problem, after all. Always following her traitorous heart, never thinking about who her actions might hurt until it was too late.

"Sure." The bartender bent down to retrieve the beer from a small freezer behind the bar. She set it down on the counter and tilted her head at Rash, looking him up and down. "You know, I think I've seen you in here before. Do you work at the hospital?"

"I-I do," he affirmed, fingers flying to readjust his glasses as though it would alter what he was seeing-a girl? Showing interest in him?

"Cool." Her mouth curled into a smile that was surprisingly gentle and she tucked a stray ringlet that had sprung forward to obscure her face behind her studded ear. "I'm Kate, by the way."

"Rash," he replied, extending his hand to shake in a gesture that was oddly formal but so quintessentially Rash Alicia had to obscure a smile behind her glass. He seemed to realise the gesture was somewhat inappropriate and tried to withdraw his hand but she just laughed and took hold of it, shaking it firmly.

"Sorry!" he apologised bashfully as they broke apart, but he was chuckling.

"Don't worry about it," she grinned, eyes bright. The sparks flying between them were almost palpable-you could see them in the way she leaned forward, resting on the bar, feel them in the way his gaze was fixed on her, rarely straying.

Their conversation continued in a similar vein, and it wasn't exactly scintillating but it was _achingly_ sweet. Alicia couldn't remember the last time someone had spoken to her like that.

She could feel Bea's attention beginning to wane. Her eyes wandered around the pub, looking for something to catch her attention.

Self-consciousness flared up under her skin, hot and paralysing. She couldn't stand the thought of her colleagues seeing her sitting alone like something Ethan had discarded at the side of the road-pretty to look at and fun in the short term but ultimately too destructive to hold onto. The idea of anyone looking past her fury and bravado to glimpse the cruel, selfish creature that seemed to be tangled irrevocably with her soul like Ethan had made her wince. She bowed her head and raised her glass to her lips in an attempt to obscure her face and save herself from further embarrassment. But it was too late-she felt Bea's eyes slide onto her and knew that she had been spotted. 'Cowardly' probably wasn't a word most people would use to describe Alicia Munroe, but in that moment she wished that the floor would swallow her up, wanted desperately to be anywhere but the Hope and Anchor with Bea's gaze burning a hole through her.

"Dr Munroe?" Bea had got up and approached her somewhat hesitantly, as though she wasn't quite sure if she should be intruding. The uncharacteristic apprehension seeping from her was incongruous against her bright, loud clothes. Alicia supposed she was worried about overstepping her mark, given that she was an F1 and Alicia was a registrar, and almost laughed at the idea that she was in a position to be telling off anyone.

She forced her lips into something that hopefully resembled a smile and didn't make it look as though she was baring her teeth at the junior doctor. "Hello!" It was blatantly an act and not a particularly good one-it was too pantomime, too obscenely over-the-top, like a lurid smile painted over a grimacing face.

Bea's eyebrows knitted together as though tethered in place by an invisible string of concern. "Listen, I don't mean to pry but I noticed you sitting over her and…are you alright?" The words crept from her mouth, slowly at first, but then spilling unceremoniously in an urgent rush. Her usual confidence appeared to have returned to her in full force now that any concerns she had about intruding had been rebuffed.

 _Yes_. The word sprang instantaneously to the tip of her tongue, an automatic defence mechanism built up after years of hiding things beneath weary smiles, nonchalant shrugs, words carefully chosen to seem careless, smiling and _smiling_ until it felt like her lips would split from the effort of holding everything in, because she would rather carve out her own heart than be viewed as someone weak, to be pitied with raised eyebrows and artificial she looked at Bea Kinsella, head tilted with genuine concern, alive with an unwavering self-assurance that seemed to be stitched into the lining of her soul, and found her mouth running away with itself.

"No, not really."

It was oddly refreshing to say the words aloud, like she was packaging up just a tiny bit of the fire blistering her insides and flinging it out into the universe.

Bea pulled out the chair opposite hers and was already half-perched on it before she bothered to ask "can I sit?" Alicia doubted she would have taken no for answer anyway, even if she wasn't too damn _lonely_ to do anything other but nod.

There was a short pause wherein they both tried to figure out exactly how to respond to such an unprecedented situation. Bea was the first one to talk and the song of her voice was quiet, gentle, more of a lilting ballad-a far cry from the usual upbeat pop that bounced around the room whenever she opened her mouth. "What happened?"

"I had an argument with Ethan-well, I suppose should call him 'Dr Hardy' now," she admitted, adding the last part glumly. She hated every single word that came out of her mouth, hated the ruin she had made of what had once been the best thing in her life, but there was something tugging at her heart that told her to keep going.

"Ahh." Bea nodded and took a moment to digest what she had said, seemingly picking her next words carefully. "You know, I heard that there was, um, a bit of a history there." She didn't say it aloud but the words lingered in the air, as palpable as they would have been if she had. _Is that true?_

Alicia took a sip of her drink, using the action as a placeholder as she wondered how to describe the mess they had become. "It's…complicated," she finally settled on.

The secretive smiles that had started it all, gentle and reassuring, but somehow exciting. The incandescent kisses smuggled in dark rooms, always tainted with a hint of guilt that wasn't quite strong enough to stop them from doing it again. The way he used to look at her when they lay somnolently in bed together, as though everything he had ever wanted to know was scrawled in the crevices under her eyes and across the jut of her cheekbones. The happiness she had felt on the night Cal had given them his blessing, pure, unadulterated joy that made you wonder why you had ever cared about bad things in the first place because life was so wonderful. The way he seemed to be laced with spikes after Cal's death, each attempted touch slicing a little deeper until she was sure her skin would unravel like ribbons. The perpetual undercurrent of bitterness that punctuated all their conversations. The way he touched her after Scott Ellison's death, so tender she forgot his hands were the same hands that had hung limply at as his sides as a man struggled to choke out his last breath. The distance that had grown between them, imperceptible at first, but eventually so large it was like a ravine keeping them apart.

 _Complicated_.

Bea nodded again, clearly recognising that their past relationship was still an open wound. "What did you argue about?" she asked instead, eyes alight with a warmth that was surprisingly genuine.

 _Don't tell her_ was the first thing that sprung to mind, still stinging from Ethan's fury. But she figured that if she had gone to all that effort, poured out her soul in an effort to make a difference, she might as well confide in someone who wasn't going to hate her. "I'm Rage in Resus," she admitted quietly, embarrassed yet still somewhat hopeful.

Bea's eyebrows shot up. "You're Rage in Resus?" Her conciliatory expression was replaced with one of incredulous delight. "No way!"

Alicia knew that if she was a good person she would have her head bowed and her answer would be no more than an ashamed mumble but Bea's zealous enthusiasm made the corner of her lips twitch slightly. "Yeah."

"I mean, that's amazing!" Bea's eyes were wide with wonder, like a child on Christmas morning, and she leaned forward almost hungrily, desperate to find out more.

Alicia felt the smile dancing on her lips begin to grow, and although she hated to admit it there was tiny, selfish part of her basking indulgently in Bea's words. "You think?" For a moment, she didn't care if pride was a sin-it was seeping into her voice, little by little, because fuck it, just for a second she _was_ proud. Maybe she had done more harm than good along the way but she had tried, and that was more than most of the lifeless shells that populated Holby City Hospital had done, who saw death everyday but chose to sew up their hearts and avert their eyes, went home to their families and painted themselves with a veneer of happiness.

"Yeah!" Bea's lively fervour was utterly contagious, seeping into the air and making Alicia's heart beat a little faster. "You spoke out when no one else would! I think it's really brave."

At the word 'brave' all her guilt came flooding back, as though Bea had unintentionally opened up some kind of invisible floodgate. She wasn't brave, not really. She just was stupidly optimistic, blinded by idealistic dreams that somehow her anger would make a difference. It wouldn't-she had realised that as she stood in Ethan's office. She could hammer out vengeful blog posts until her fingers bled but the problem was far too intrinsic to be unravelled by words alone. "Ethan didn't think so," she muttered in embarrassment, eyes straying away from Bea's gaze.

"Ahh." An understanding came across Bea's face and she winced ever so slightly. "Yeah, I can see why."

"It's just…" She paused, second-guessing her decision to lay out the most buried parts of herself for all to see, but there was no going back now and Bea was a surprisingly good listener. "I'm angry at him for acting like he's never done anything wrong in his life, you know? Like I'm the only person who's ever made a bad decision and hurt people because of it. But I think I'm mainly angry at myself because I _knew_ it was wrong. I knew the whole time that Ethan was going be hurt by it, and yet I did it anyway. And it's…what does that say about me?" She came to a halt, realising that she was almost short for breath. She felt strangely empty and couldn't quite decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Bea was uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, clearly taking her time to mull over what had just been said. "You know what I think?" she asked finally, tone gentle. She was a exuding a newfound softness and Alicia wasn't quite sure where it came from-whether she kept it locked up behind her ribs to protect her heart, or hid it underneath her hard exterior like a second skin-but she was achingly grateful for it. "I think it says you're brave. And I think it says that you're really, really passionate about helping people. and I think that just because you hurt someone along the way it doesn't make your intentions any less good."

Her words scorched Alicia like poison, twisting her veins into knots and burning her throat because there was something she still hadn't told Bea, something certain to strip the kindness from her gaze.

"We kissed." It slid out of her lips, barely a whisper-a gust of wind could have blown it away at any moment.

Bea blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"While I was running the blog. We kissed, and I still didn't tell him. He trusted me and I threw it back in his face." Saying it aloud just twisted the knife of guilt that little bit deeper and she kept her eyes fixed on the faded wood of the table, dotted with sticky rings left behind by various alcoholic beverages over the years. She refused to look up for fear that Bea's face would contort to reflect her worst thoughts about herself- _manipulative. Liar. You've seen how the job is tearing him apart, and this is how you repay him. The world's ugliest kiss, whispering lies into the curve of his mouth. He deserves so, so much better._

"So, you made a mistake. So _what_?"

Her head snapped up, convinced she had misheard, that her brain had twisted Bea's words into what she wanted to hear. But Bea appeared genuinely unbothered-there was no disgust in her voice, no judgement flashing in her eyes like lighting.

"Everyone does. Yes, you should have told him. But there's no point wasting time beating yourself up about it." She shrugged, the words ambling out of her mouth, as though she was talking about the weather, or an upcoming holiday, or something equally superficial. "There are more important things to be worried about." She leaned in almost conspiratorially. "Besides, it's not half as shitty as some of the things I've done. A couple years ago, there was this really creepy guy, friend of a friend, who wouldn't stop hitting on me even though he _knew_ I was gay. And he still lived with his parents, right? So I got his address from my friend and signed him up for 'Nymphomaniacs Anonymous'." She smirked devilishly. "Imagine the look on his poor, sweet mum's face when she goes to collect the post and sees all these leaflets addressed to her son about sex addiction."

Laughter blossomed in Alicia's throat before she could stop it and Bea looked delighted at having evoked such a reaction. The situations weren't exactly comparable, but she appreciated the attempt to make her feel better.

"See! It sounds to me like you and Dr Hardy have just reached a place where you're hurting each other. And I'm sure you don't mean to, but people change. It happens, and there's no shame in taking a break to allow each of you to figure yourselves out. Sounds like you're both going through some stuff." She grinned, green eyes crinkling up at the edges. "Don't worry about it, all right?"

"You're too nice to me," Alicia murmured, but the shame was beginning to wane and was being replaced by a growing sense of warmth. Bea's arm was only inches away from hers on the table and she had a sudden, mad urge to touch it, to try and draw the carefreeness she exuded so easily from her, something Alicia hadn't felt in a long time.

And she didn't know if Bea had read her mind, or seen the loneliness that lurked under her skin, or if she was just kind, but she placed her hand comfortingly on top of Alicia's. "Maybe you're just too hard on yourself," she suggested gently. Her voice was delicate, as though Alicia was some kind of fragile artefact to be treated with care and reverence, lest she shatter.

Alicia looked at her, wanting to savour the moment so she could play it in her head over and over again because there was something infallibly comforting about the feeling of someone else's hand on yours, tangible proof that, even if just for a moment you weren't alone. Bea's thumb tracing the web of veins that jutted out of the back her hand, eyes dancing with a sincere light. Bright, golden words of comfort spun just for her. The knowledge that someone cared, understood even.

She smiled somewhat sheepishly at Bea, and Bea grinned back at her, and she was certain, certain in her bones, that it was the start of something. An alliance, a friendship, possibly something more. But it would be _something_ , and it would be wonderful.

Bea cleared her throat, removing her hand from Alicia's. Alicia's skin felt cold at the loss of touch, but it was overruled by the newfound warmth spreading through her chest. "Well, it looks like Rash is still otherwise occupied," she said, casting a cursory glance over her shoulder to where Rash stood at the bar, still chatting away with the bartender, "and about time too! He's been moping around for months, making me give him 'girl advice'." She pulled a face, showing that she thought that was slightly ridiculous, and Alicia laughed. "He's like something out of the 50s, seriously. It's slightly terrifying. But that means I've got no-one to drink with." She tilted her head to one side, eyes twinkling. "Will you be my Rash for the evening?"

Alicia felt her mouth curving upwards to mirror the smile playing warmly on Bea's lips. "It would be my honour," she joked, resisting the sudden urge to play with her hair like a coy schoolgirl.

"Good," Bea replied, with a broad grin that could spark a revolution in someone's heart.

And she looked at Bea Kinsella, fiery-eyed, and warm-hearted, and utterly inexorable, and felt something stirring under her skin. Not electricity-that sounded too violent, too painful. It was more of a warmth that flowed down her throat and soaked slowly into her bones, keeping her balanced, happy, almost insouciant. Maybe it was just hope, although she wasn't quite sure exactly what she was hopeful for.

Change, perhaps. Change for the better.

She remembered the feeling of Bea's hand on hers and _knew_ , unequivocally, that change was coming.


End file.
